Warm Fires, Bright Hearths
by Hannah's Golem
Summary: Pointless R/Her fluff - completed. A pleasant night at the Burrow sees Ron, Hermione and Harry playing scabble. Is Molly right about Harry and Hermione? Because it wouldn't be fluff without it... there is a kiss.


**Warm Fires, Bright Hearths** by Hannah's Golem

I wanted this to be pointless R/Her fluff.  But then horrors of horrors I realized it was really an anti H/Her statement.  But enjoy anyway.  Hope it isn't too pretentious.  

**PART I:  Friends at the Burrow**

The Burrow was warm with two fires blazing and candles everywhere.  No one liked the dark anymore.  The night air was still and Molly sat trying to hear something upstairs.  They were talking again and she distinctly heard the sound of a female laughter high over that of her son's.  She smirked to herself that it wasn't so long ago that could have been her youngest boy.  But he was past that.  He had come home looking so much like his father.  In his robes she thought she might have been looking at Arthur.  How could he look so much like him, Molly wondered as she headed up stairs.  

She rapped softly on the door and waited for someone to answer. When the door opened, she found Ron standing over her in his pyjamas with Hermione and Harry sitting on the floor behind him.  His pyjamas were too short Molly noticed, his forearms clearly visible and the hem of the pants above his ankle.  At this rate, he would be 10 feet tall by the time he was 20.  How could anyone grow that much in just a few months?  She had just bought that set.  

"Now you have to go to bed.  It is late."    

Ron sighed and glanced back shrugging his shoulders.  Harry smiled but nobody moved.  

"_Hermione…," _ Molly added in an admonishing tone as she stood arms crossed, waiting for the girl to leave.  Molly made sure Hermione descended the stairs to where she was supposed to be.  She stayed to hear Ginny's door close before she turned to the boys and told them to get some sleep.  She hoped everyone would stay where they should be; but with teenagers, it was too hard to tell.  It was so much easier with the others.  They had never brought home friends like Hermione.  

And Molly didn't know whom she was supposed to be worried about.  She had always thought Harry and Hermione might have feelings for each other but in the past few days it seemed almost as though there was something between Hermione and Ron.  Then Molly would turn around to find Harry and Hermione in deep conversation with her hands on his or on his arm and all theories were thrown to the wind. She only hoped they could work it out.  

When all was quiet, Molly felt it safe to give up her watch and go to bed.  

But Hermione could not sleep her toes wiggled under the quilt.  There was nothing to do.  She couldn't read in the dark or even see the picture story ceiling.  Hermione made so much noise with her shifting and turning that Ginny finally huffed at her to just GO TO BED!  Apologizing Hermione went to get herself a glass of water but as she climbed down the stairs, she heard the Ron and Harry in quiet laughter.  They weren't tired either.  She climbed the rickety steps to his door hoping they wouldn't creak.  Softly rapping on Ron's door Hermione announced herself as she was coming in.  Ron and Harry were playing scrabble on the floor, the beds untouched except for the missing pillows they were using.  

Ron turned to see Hermione's eyes light up at the sight of the game.  "Can I play?"

"Oh we're in for it now," he laughed to Harry.  "I think I like it better when she plays chess."

But Hermione had settled down and was gathering tiles as she looked at the board.  It was mostly filled with magical names and spells and she had to laugh. Who was the idiot who had laid down '_cat'_?  The board looked like when her parents used dental terms.  But it occurred to Hermione that she now knew a great many words that had Q's and X's.  

"So is wizarding Scrabble different somehow," she asked carefully arranging her tiles on the stand with a wide smile.  

Ron had to laugh as he looked at her.  No wonder she never won at chess.  Her expression gave everything away.  "No it's a Muggle game.  My dad picked it up.  Harry said you probably would like it."

"My parents and I used to play it all the time," she added eagerly.

Harry snorted and nodded at Ron. They both burst out laughing shoving each other a little and Hermione rolled her eyes wondering what they were going on about.   

"It's not bad for a brainy game," added Ron.  

Hermione laid out tiles as soon as he gave her the nod.  'Hinky Punk' didn't seem a very big word but it was late so she excused herself.  

Harry laid down 'gillyweed' with a sigh.  Hermione could not help but frown and look away.  She didn't know what to say. 

But no sooner than that did Ron begin a laying down tiles in a flurry that seemed never ending. Playfully he was laying them down out of order waggling his eyebrows at Hermione waiting for her to figure it out.  

"Wingardium Leviosa" she read out slowly. "You can't use two words."

"Awww come on!  You used Hinky Punk.  Besides it is Win_GAR_dium Levi_O_saaa," returned Ron in a high affected falsetto.  A large smile broke out on Harry's face as he grabbed a pillow and grunted as he whacked Hermione over her head.  Ron doubled over laughing freely.  

She was trying to stifle her own laughter as she whispered in what really wasn't a whisper at all that they were going to wake Ron's parents.  And almost instantly Ron was quieter.  Harry and Hermione exchanged smirking glances.  

"Oh please!  That can do anything," Ron gripped gesturing towards Harry.  "He's the favourite.  But I'll be the one who's strung up mark my words.  You don't want to cross my mum.  I'm brave, not stupid."

Hermione's eyes widened and she giggled quietly into her hands. Ron watched wishing he could use his wand; he wanted to hit her with the laughing curse.  Not hard, just enough to make her breathless.  He wanted to grab her and tickle her until… until something made him stop.  For a moment, he wished Harry was somewhere else.  Not far – just somewhere else.  

"Well," Hermione sighed haughtily returning to the board. "At least you can spell even if you can't say it properly."

"I'll have you know I took down a full grown mountain troll with that Charm. Perhaps I will write a book about it. I think I'd look good on the cover of a book and I have a lovely signature."

Harry was a laughing as Hermione scowled.  It was on the tip of her tongue to say something about Veela but she couldn't.  She didn't want to think about _that_.  Looking at Ron it occurred to her that he would look good on the cover a book.  Smiling with his white teeth and the lights glinting off his red hair.  He could write a book about his life.  They all could.  Somebody probably would eventually. She lowered her head to study the tiles before they could see her expression change.  Harry was happy she wouldn't let anything ruin that.  

'Zahavunsfescura'

Ron groaned and objected that it wasn't a word, looking to Harry for support, but getting none.  If Hermione said it was one, Harry figured it must be so. 

"Of course it is," she launched in excitedly. "It's sturdy colouring charm used by artists.  Fascinating Middle Eastern technique that dates back from before ancient Rome."

Harry leaned back against his bed watching Hermione.  He wondered what it was like to get that excited over nothing.  She didn't even paint.  She was so odd, he thought smiling.  Interested in anything and everything, even Quidditch if there was a book on it.  He wished aloud that she could show the charm to him.  

"Oh I couldn't do it.  I only read about it. I'd need more training.  Plus, it involves all these supplies, like gold foil.  You should really ask Dean to borrow _Living in the Frame_.  It was fascinating.  I wish I had the talent to paint.  It must be so wonderful to really capture something."

"Like you're not talented enough?" Ron teased. "Why don't you leave some talents for others to have?"

Hermione broke out into a deep flush as a small smile spread about her lips.  Stammered modestly, she claimed she was …

"Only clever," broke in Harry as he laid down tiles.  "Yes, yes we know.  Such a horrible talent.  Why don't we trade places? I can come first in every class and you can catch the snitch."

Hermione launched in seriously he _and Ron _were really smart and could do better if they studied more.  It wasn't her fault that they never put in any effort.  When met with a teasing groan, Hermione added, she didn't like to fly. It wasn't natural.  People weren't meant to do that so high. 

"You're not people, Hermione.  You're a witch!" Ron exclaimed.  

And for the first time in years that statement struck her as strange and funny and she started to laugh in a high ironic manner.  Ron wondered what he had said and looked at Harry in confusion.  He didn't really think it was funny.  

"Harry don't you ever think it is funny?  Didn't you ever hear someone call a woman a witch as an insult," she asked

Agreeing with a shrug, he guessed he had.  

Ron looked mystified.  What was so insulting about that?  

"Muggle insult," Hermione provided softly.  "They don't know better.  Rhymes with 'bitch'."

Ron gasped a little as he eyed Hermione with great respect.  He laid down new tiles "scandalous".  

Two sets of eyes rolled.  They played for a long time before Hermione asked the score.  Ron and Harry realized they never read how to keep score or even wondered about it. 

It was so much fun to sit up late in the Burrow and Hermione could not remember Harry looking so easy.  It almost made everything bad disappear as if nothing could go wrong in this warm little place.  Hermione stretched out laying her chin on her hands, as they told old stories. 

Harry told them for the first time about his earliest memories of magic.  He never talked so much about Privet Drive and Hermione and Ron allowed the stories to flow until he ran dry.  Each desperate to know what happened to him there.  But when the air grew heavy Ron replaced these with the tales twins' latest pranks and Charlie's latest injuries.  

To both their surprise Hermione admitted to shrinking Pansy's robes about half a size.  The boys wanted to laugh but were mystified as to why that was supposed to be so funny and Hermione sighed dramatically that she needed more girlfriends.  "Perhaps I can transfigure Harry into a girl.  You'd make a pretty girl Harry."

Harry did not look pleased at the idea and instead wondered why not Ron? Weasley hair was nicer anyway.  Hermione could not help but betray that she did not like that, even if she all she did was nod.  It was a few moments before it struck her how odd Harry's statement was.  But perhaps that was just wishful thinking.  

It was so lovely as Hermione's eyelids grew heavy and she rested them a moment. Ron felt freer to look at her even if Harry smirked and would tease him later.  She looked sweet like that, but not like Hermione.  It didn't seem right for Hermione to be quiet and for a moment he was chillingly reminded of her petrifaction.  

It was late, they were tired, and Harry said he wanted to go to bed.  Ron tried to coax Hermione back to Ginny's room, but she was being stubborn, she didn't want to move.  She wanted to stay.  She didn't know why but in the haze of sleepiness, Hermione was desperate to remain in Ron's room, near him and Harry, as if she worried they might need her.  Ron stroked her back for a moment before he pulled his blazing orange quilt off his bed and laid it over her with his pillow already under her head.  She snuggled happily on the carpet and Ron wondered aloud how she could be comfortable.  

But she seemed content and that was all that mattered.  Ron left her there and settled into his own bed. He set his alarm to wake him up before his mother.  She would not be happy to find Hermione there.  But he was.  He liked knowing she was in his room.  He could hear her breathing softly.  Harry lay down on the other bed and asked if Ron would be cold.  "Should I go get another quilt?"

Ron told him he'd be fine. He stretched out and let his feet dangle off the end of the bed as he wiggled his toes waiting for sleep to come.  But it didn't.  How could it with Hermione right there in her pyjamas underneath his quilt?  He'd never be able to sleep under it again.  He turned over to look at Harry but Harry was asleep.  A small sigh escaped Ron as he tried not to think about anything. Not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, not Hermione Granger sleeping on the carpet under his quilt. 

He tried to sort things out.  He wished in a way nothing would change.  Everything was so perfect just now.  Hermione, Harry and everything.  In dark places, never expressed with words, he prayed that Harry would live. He feared Harry would not.  And he couldn't even think about what was in store.  More than ever he was glad to have taken Divination.  If people's futures could be fated, there was hope.  Hope that whatever had taken them this far would win out again. That good could and would triumph over evil just as it did in storybooks. And hadn't Harry Potter's great deed been told to him as a child. Didn't every child in the Wizarding world know about Harry?  

Ron snorted before realizing he should be quieter.  Harry stirred a little.  It seemed so odd that he was actually friends with Harry Potter.  And it struck him now again as it had many times over the years how different the myth was from reality and yet how entirely the same.  Harry was at once so ordinary and so usual. As brave as everyone expected and as good as everyone had hoped.  He had saved Ginny.  He would have done it for anyone.  Ron knew they on a great adventure, but heroes shouldn't worry about grades or fret about dates to balls.  

He wondered why Hermione seemed to like him. Why in heaven's name would she like him?  Almost everyone thought she and Harry were destined for each other.  But even that hadn't bothered Ron much lately so long as Hermione continued to smile at him in that way she did where she pulled her hair behind her ear and her mouth went lopsided.  She never did that with anyone else.  

PART  II: Watching Harry 

It was still dark when Hermione awoke to the sound of heavy breathing and mumbling.  She got up and saw in the moonlight that Ron was curled in a ball on his bed his red hair visible even in the dark.  He was uncovered and Hermione looked over to the floor to see his Cannons quilt.  The sight of it there filled her with a pleasing warmth.  He looked so sweet and somehow younger.  He was snoring a little, she noted smiling.  From the way, the guys talked you'd think it would be like a rock quarry.  It wasn't.  It was lulling, really.

There was a stirring from the other bed and she turned to see Harry.  Rustling under twisted covers his face was tense and his brow furrowed. His scar was all scrunched up and his hair parted so she could fully see it.  She tried never to stare at it but now she couldn't draw eyes away.  
  
He was having a nightmare.  He was sweating and scared and mumbling.  Reaching out on instinct to wake him, she jerked her hand back within a moment.  He might need the dream.  It might be helpful.  All she could see was his pain as he tossed.  He was crying.  She had never seen him cry.  Hermione's heart was so heavy she thought she might cry herself.  The mumblings became clearer and clearer as his fear rose. Still in the moonlight, she waited to hear something that might help. But all that came out were cries for mercy.  

"No, not Harry" over and over.  He was begging Voldemort not to kill him.  Hermione knew it must be his mother's voice he heard an repeated.  

Unable to bear it anymore she fled downstairs.  

  
**PART III: Bright Hearts**

Heavy footsteps on the stairs brought her around and Hermione worried someone had heard her. She didn't want to be seen like this and be asked questions.  Unable to lift her face from where it was hidden, in her arms and guarded by her large bushy hair, she sat still hoping not to be noticed.  

But she was.  Ron was standing over her with a glass of water in his hand.  Taking a seat beside her, he drew her hair back to see some of her face before she lifted it to look him in the eye.  The sight caught his breath.  Her eyes were bloodshot and her was face blotchy.  An incomprehensible fear crashed through him. She had been crying and he wondered why, but from her looks she had been doing it a while.  

  
She fixed her gaze on something far off and her chest hitched.  Giving an ungraceful sniffle that sounded more like a snort, Hermione drew her sleeve under her nose looking much like an injured child.   

"What's wrong?," Ron asked softly, wondering if it could be him, while he played with ends of her hair unable to break contact.  

Heaving, almost gasping for breath, she sobbed "Harry,".  

There was silence. Ron didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what she meant.  

"Is it always that bad?," she continued.

"What?"

"His dreams.  The nightmares," she whispered hoarsely afraid to make it real.

"Sometimes worse. Sometimes better, I guess.  He's not screaming," His nightmares and sleeplessness were a normal part of his dorm. Accepted and never discussed amongst the boys.  It was just a part of living with Harry Potter. They had all tried to pretend Harry was just another kid and not fuss. 

"It's so horrible.  Oh Ron, how can you stand it?  All this time.  I had no idea.  I mean, I knew but I never understood it really.  It wasn't real.  He looked so sad. He was crying. His mother.  Is that the only memory he has? He deserves so much better.  I hate it.  I hate all of this." She was sobbing and talking a mile a minute, her brown eyes spilling tears onto her cheeks.  And there was nothing he could do.  Nothing.  

  
Except put his arms around her.  So, he did that. It made _him_ feel better anyway.  It didn't seem as awkward as he thought it might when she fitted herself close to him, thinking only of Harry.  Ron could feel the shudders of her small frame as she sobbed into his chest, and he wondered when Hermione had become so tiny. She always seemed larger than life, imposing really.  He stroked her back with his large hand and whispered that Harry was fine. It was a lie they both needed to hear. A lie they had lived for so many years.  

Ron sat on the sofa of the Burrow holding Hermione as she cried and he didn't know when but at some point they both feel asleep.  He woke up with her still there.  Small and warm, with her wiry hair all in his face, tickling his nose and her chest rising and falling against his.  It was wonderful.  He didn't want to move.  Not ever.  This was the perfect way to wake up even if he had to sleep mostly upright.

Light began to fill the front room playing against Hermione's face.  She began to stir and Ron wanted to curse the day.  Yawning she stretched out her arm, jumping a little, unsure at first of where she was or why she was being held.  There was a croaked good morning and she nodded with a smile. 

"Thanks."

What could he say if he could manage to say anything at all?  And so instead he kissed the top of her head.  Her eyes fluttered wide open suddenly alert and her heart began to race as she lifted her face to him.  Unbearably self-conscious, Hermione knew she must have looked horrible.  But he didn't really seem to mind.  He was smiling at her.  

His nose was so close to hers and she tilted her head just a little and reached out brushing her lips against his.  It was a soft and quick gesture, but very real. She wanted to do more before she realized it was morning and she hadn't brushed her teeth.  That was hardly how she wanted to start the day off.  

With bright eyes, he looked at her as if she was mad, wonderful but mad.  Had she really kissed him? Spent the night in his arms and then kissed him?  Staring and not speaking, they tried reading each other without much success before there were footsteps hurrying down the stairs… and past the front room.  Hermione suddenly wrenched herself from Ron's arms but not before Mr. Weasley saw them.  A heat spread like a shockwave across her.  She knew she must be scarlet.  Ron looked terrified and was silent.  He wasn't even standing.  Instead, he was gripping his knees so hard his knuckles had gone white.  

"Good morning. Hermione.  Good Morning Ron," greeted Mr. Weasley with his usual cheerful tone and an inquisitive look.  

The pair managed each to respond but said nothing more.  What could they say?  What would be believed?  

"You had better not let your mother see you like that Ron," Arthur smiled as Hermione fled from the room with excuses trailing her. "I am fairly sure she would not be pleased."  Ron looked shocked and exhaled in relief.  

Still such a boy, reflected his father with some wistfulness.  Wouldn't be that way for long.  

Arthur left Ron to thank fate and regain some composure. He wanted to laugh at their fear but knew he shouldn't.  It was just as he had suspected.  Hermione liked Ron and a wide satisfied smile broke out over his face.  He had been right.  At least this arrangement would create less tension.  He wanted to run up and tell Molly but then she would ask questions and get angry and there was really nothing to be angry about.  He hadn't caught them doing anything so very bad.  He and Molly had been far worse.  This time he did laugh.  He would tell her that if she found out.  He could just imagine his wife exasperated and worried for the virtue of her son.  

Arthur reflected how much he liked Hermione.  She was bright, kind and just a little bit arrogant.  She reminded him a bit of Molly at that age and that pleased him even more.  It was silly though. Nothing might come of it.  Arthur let himself wonder anyway. He had first noticed Molly when he was about Ron's age.  Ron already had a few years on him with all those adventures. Stranger things had happened.  He would have to talk to Ron.  Perhaps he might talk with Harry as well.  Make sure everything was fine between them.

He would have to mention it in his next letter to Bill.  The house was quiet.  There was nothing to do but make his lunch and laugh in the kitchen.  Laugh and remember.  


End file.
